Play Something Slow
by wordlesscaptain
Summary: Steve x Reader Steve's having a rough day. You take it upon yourself to try and lift his spirits.


Everyone had bad days, that was a given. Sometimes those days were warranted, sometimes they weren't. Sometimes everything came tumbling down in a pool of chaos, nothing seeming to go right. Sometimes nothing terrible happened at all, but the day was somehow just as bad. And that was the type of day Steve was having.

It was a great day, by most people's standards. The entire team was called in for a last minute mission in the city and it went surprisingly well. No hiccups, no bumps or bruises, no mistakes. _Flawless_. It astonished everyone. There was always one misstep, one miscalculation. But this mission had none of that. As a result of that, everyone was in high spirits. So much so that Tony decided to throw a last minute party to celebrate the success of the team.

Steve was having none of it. He usually didn't enjoy Tony's countless parties to begin with. He just wasn't one for the party atmosphere—the hordes of unfamiliar people, the monotonous small talk, and the headache inducing music. He preferred smaller groups of people, people he loved and cared for, where he could automatically skip the small talk and simply enjoy their company.

The party seemed to dampen his already gloomy mood. He wasn't quite sure why he was having such a bad day especially when everything had gone exceptionally well. He wanted nothing more than to sulk in his room or take out some of his negative energy in the gym. But he didn't want anyone to notice the stark contrast in his mood compared to everyone else's elated frame of mind. So, there he was at the party, trying is damn hardest to keep his scowl at bay. He hoped no one noticed him brooding in the corner of the room. He wasn't in the mood to explain his sour mood, mostly because he didn't have an explanation.

That was a lie. He did have an explanation. He had been in his own head for the entire day and a few days before, examining his thoughts and feelings about life. Not that it was a bad thing to examine life. He just didn't like where his mind was going. He started to question what he was doing and why he was doing it. Was it worth it? Was _this_ it? Was everything he had worked so hard for—joining the army, becoming Captain America, leading the Avengers—all that life had to offer? Was it selfish of him to want more out of life?

These thoughts and the combination of the endless mass of people and the loud, pounding music started to give him a headache. He needed a break, an escape to clear his head. He brushed past bodies quickly as he made his way to the glass doors that separated him from the balcony. He opened the heavy doors with ease and shut them behind him swiftly, hoping no one saw him. The once pounding **music** was now muted and dull.

He leaned against the railing and let out a heavy sigh. The crisp air filled his nose and made him feel better. He looked out at the city below him. He watched as headlights from cars lit up the ground they traveled, leaving behind nothing but a faint pair of red lights that dissipated into the darkness of the night. The streets were lined with lights that flickered with each passing second. Buildings outstretched in the horizon were filled with glowing squares, confirming that New York was truly the city that never sleeps. It felt peaceful, which was laced with irony, because he was out in that very city just hours before trying to save it.

Steve heard the door behind him open, the booming music filling his ears once more. He stiffened at the thought of someone else joining him. He just wasn't in the mood to keep up his positive Captain America façade tonight.

"Hey," you greeted softly. He relaxed at the sound of your voice. Out of everyone, you were one of the few people he felt like he could talk to tonight. Not as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers.

"Hey," he replied, turning his head over his shoulder to greet you.

"Here," you smiled, handing him a beer.

"Thanks," he replied with a slight smile.

"If you want something stronger, I think Thor left behind some of that Asgardian stuff."

"I might have to take you up on that offer."

"Do my ears deceive me?" you quirked a brow. "Is _Steve Rogers_ actually wanting to get hammered tonight?" you joked.

"I don't know," he chuckled with a shrug. He couldn't help but smile at your choice of words. _Steve Rogers_. You always called him Steve even on missions. He wasn't sure why, but he was thankful for that. It helped remind him who he really was underneath all the red, white, and blue.

"I see you're not," he nodded towards the cocktail you'd been nursing all night.

"Good detective work," you raised your glass up slightly before leaning against the railing. "I see Natasha's been teaching you a thing or two." He laughed and shook his head.

"You usually have a couple of those things. Everything alright?" he asked.

"Well," you let out a sigh, "someone's gotta keep these kids in check," you said, gesturing towards the glass where the party was taking place. Steve nodded in agreement, a smile on his lips. "And," you paused, turning back to him, "if you're getting wasted tonight, I _definitely_ want to be sober enough to see it."

"That's it?" he asked with raised brows, not fully believing your answer. You let out a breathy laugh.

"Damn you and your unwavering perception," you muttered.

"Hey, maybe Natasha has been teaching me a few things," he gave you a cheeky grin. You laughed.

"Well," you sighed, "I feel like you're always the one keeping an eye on everyone and I figured you could use a break."

"Thanks," he gave you a small smile.

"You okay?" you asked, concern crossing over your features.

"Yeah," he nodded, turning his head to look back at the city.

You stared at him, taking in his features. His gaze was distant. His usually bright and determined blue eyes were dim and tired. You weren't sure what was causing his melancholy mood, especially after today's successful events. You didn't believe his short answer, but you didn't want to push him. He'd tell you if and when he was ready.

"You know," you hummed, changing the topic, "I wonder how much one of these parties cost," you looked over the balcony out to the city lights that illuminated the sky in front of you.

"Probably way too much," he quipped, turning his attention back to you.

"Probably," you laughed. "I just don't know how he does it."

"How he throws together a party so quickly?" he asked.

" _Yes!_ " you exclaimed. "And how does he get so many people to show up? Especially on such short notice?"

"Maybe he does have superpowers after all. Who knew?" he proposed with a smirk.

You let out a hearty laugh, which caused Steve's smirk to turn into a smile. He loved the sound of your laugh. He loved the way you threw you head back and your eyes crinkled. But he loved it even _more_ when your laugh was because of him.

"Maybe, Rogers. Maybe."

You both turned your attention back to the city lights. Steve took a couple swigs from the beer you gave him and you twirled the straw around in your glass, mixing the now mostly melted ice in with the strong liquid.

The loud, rhythmic music shifted slowly into something more mellow and **soulful**. Although it was muffled through the glass that separated you from the rest of the party, you recognized the melody instantly. You couldn't help the smile that crept across your face.

"Sounds like Tony's playing your song," you turned to Steve.

"My song?" he raised his brows, amusement playing on his lips.

"Well, maybe not _your_ song specifically, but something you'd like. Something that would get your attention. It's like if he played The Backstreet Boys or Britney Spears or something for me."

"So you're saying Tony's trying to get my attention?" he inquired.

"Maybe," you shrugged. "I mean, I don't think anyone else here would appreciate Ella Fitzgerald as much as you," you replied.

"Bucky would," he suggested. You scrunched up your face and shook your head in disagreement.

"Okay, okay, you're right," he laughed. "Buck always liked the faster songs."

"Yeah," you hummed. "I could see that. He seems more of the reckless dancer type."

"Yeah," he laughed. "He was always good at all that stuff back then, the Jitterbug and Charleston and whatnot. Always took girls out dancing."

"What a flirt," you shook your head with a smile.

"I still don't know how he was so good at dancing," Steve commented.

"Sounds like he got a lot of practice," you replied.

"Yeah, he did," Steve smiled.

"What about you?" you asked, looking at him with earnestness.

"I, uhh," he sighed, looking away from your unwavering gaze, "girls never really wanted to dance with someone smaller than them," Steve replied, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Really?" you questioned in disbelief. "I've seen photos of you from back then. You were a catch, Rogers. Those girls were missing out."

He looked at you and smiled. A genuine smile. Something he felt like he hadn't done in quite some time. He could tell you were being sincere. You always were with him. You never beat around the bush. You were direct and honest and authentic. And he loved that about you.

You smiled back at him, your heart bursting at the sight of his smile, the smile you had grown to love. His _real_ smile. A smile reserved for only a select few to see. Your heart fluttered at the fact that he shared that brilliant and true smile with you.

You felt yourself staring at him for too long, and slowly averted your gaze back to the glowing city. You watched as the cars drove by, trying desperately to think of something else to say to him, but all you could think about was that _damn_ perfect smile.

Steve studied you, the calmness of the night casting a cool hue over your features. He watched how the lights below illuminated certain parts of your face—the curve of your cheeks, the slope of your nose. The lights made the unmistakable twinkle in your eyes shine even brighter.

He couldn't help but think about how grateful he was for you. You helped keep him grounded in the crazy, unbelievable world he woke up in. You always knew how to cheer him up, like on nights like these. You always found a way to bring his smile back. Out of all the city lights that engulfed him, you shone the brightest.

The music changed again to a slower **melody** Steve hadn't heard since he was young in the 1930s. He couldn't help but sway along.

You saw him sway out of the corner of your eye. You smiled to yourself before reaching out your palm, a silent invitation to dance. He looked at you with wariness, his swaying slowing to a halt.

"I've never, uhh," he stammered, "I-I don't know how to dance," he gave you a sheepish grin, embarrassment evident in his face.

"That's okay. I'll teach you," you smiled.

"You know how to dance?" he asked in a joking tone. You rolled your eyes at his playfulness.

"Of course I do. I got signed up to do a lot of extracurricular activities as a kid that I had no interest in, so I'll be teaching you everything I remember I was taught at age 7."

"You don't have to-"

"C'mon, it'll be fun," you reassured. "I'll try not to step on your toes."

"Alright," he nodded in agreement. "But I make no promises about the safety of your toes."

You faced him and took the almost empty beer bottle from his hand and placed it on the ground along with your glass. You gently grasped his left hand with your right, his palm warm in yours. You took his right hand and placed it on your upper back. You then rested your left hand on his shoulder. You looked down and positioned your feet offset from his.

"Okay," you looked back up at him, "that was the hard part. Now for the easy part." You started to sway back and forth, matching the rhythm of the song. Steve picked up the rhythm quickly and soon you were swaying in a circle in perfect harmony.

"Look at you," you gleamed. His cheeks flushed slightly pink at your praise.

"I can't believe you knew how to dance at such a young age," Steve spoke.

"Oh, I hated every minute of it back then. Now?" you smiled up at him. "I'm glad I was forced into all those extracurriculars."

"Me, too," he smiled down at you.

You continued to dance in silence, cherishing the special moment you were having together. Dancing with you under the moonlight while the city below illuminated you from behind was something he wasn't going to forget.

"Do you," he paused, taking a breath, "do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?"

"Oh yeah, all the time. These heels?" you stuck your foot out, showing him the strappy heel. "Wrong choice. What we do for a living? Definitely the right choice."

He nodded at you and pursed his lips, but didn't speak further. He was starting to open up about what he was feeling. You didn't want to force it out of him, but you'd at least try to coax it out of him a little bit. The tired and dull look in his eyes was starting to make sense to you now. You couldn't put your finger on it earlier, but now you had a faint sense of what he was thinking. He seemed lost perhaps. Maybe even dissatisfied with his life. Doing the same thing everyday had to wear someone down, especially someone who had been doing the same thing since the _forties_.

"You know, Steve," you spoke up, "you don't have to do this forever. Everyone here would understand if you stepped down or retired. You've been doing this for _so_ long."

"Well, I was frozen for most of it," he commented.

"Yeah, but still."

"I don't know…" he hesitated.

"The world will still be protected. You've got a great group of people in there that will continue to fight the good fight."

He nodded in agreement. You were right. He could leave the Avengers with a good conscience, knowing the world would still be in good hands, _great_ hands. He'd considered it before. But then what? If he wasn't fighting to save the world, what else could he do? He had worked all his life to fight for the country—and now the world—he loved. For the _people_ he loved. He wasn't sure he could ever stop fighting.

"Sometimes…I wish I could just step back from it all. But…" he trailed off.

"But you can't," you finished.

He shook his head. In all honesty, he was surprised you understood. But at the same time, he wasn't surprised at all. Somehow, you just understood him. You were able to read him like no one else.

"Sorry if I ruined the moment," he apologized.

"Not at all," you gave him a soft smile, shaking your head lightly. "I'm glad you spoke your mind. It's good for you. You can't keep everything up there," you gestured towards your head.

He smiled and pulled your closer to him, still swaying to the music. You took your hand out of his and rested them around his shoulders. He placed both of his hands on your hips. He looked down at you again, but this time the dimness in his eyes was gone. They shown down at you with the brightness you always treasured.

He never imagined his life would turn out like this. By some crazy stroke of luck—or misfortune, depending on who you asked—he woke up 70 years later. He was confused and hurt. He missed his time and had a hard time adjusting to the 21st century. But with hard work, and endless support from others, he managed just fine.

He was still unsure about life. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted still. Maybe there was more to life, but not in the way he thought? Maybe he didn't have to stop fighting to protect the world to get more out of life. Maybe it didn't matter _what_ he was doing in life, but _who_ he was doing it with. He would have to examine his thoughts in more depth. This was something he couldn't make a decision on in a day. He knew he'd still have to find peace in where he belonged in the world.

But in this moment, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be—dancing to something slow with someone he adored.


End file.
